infortunium major
by nasty plot
Summary: "Technically," he argues, looking every bit the handsome team leader and part-time babysitter he is supposed to be, "I've killed a lot of people." — Souji, Naoto


She's taken in a misty night; her head throbs dully when she wakes up, finding herself lying on an operating table. This, she resumes coolly, is part of the plan.

And then Souji comes in, smiling boyishly, and Naoto feels herself go cold.

* * *

"Your mistake," Souji says, off-hand and casual, "was to be too hot-headed."

Naoto grits her teeth, wrists limp under her shackles. The table she is lying on is metallic, cold, sterile, and it smells of disinfectant and dried blood.

"Didn't you learn the evidence always speaks louder than witnesses do?" He looks at her from under his hair, almost repentant. In the light, it reflects whitely, and Naoto thinks of Lucifer, fallen from grace. _No_, she corrects, looking back at the ceiling, _Lucifer made a mistake, not a conscious decision_. Whatever – she's not a religious person anyway. "Why put yourself in this position?"

Souji's fingers trace the red welts on her wrists carefully; though she has long since stopped struggling, they still ache when he presses.

"I recognize the error of my ways," she says, thinking of her grandfather's library, the carpeted floors, the rough skin of his palm against hers. Souji leans in, then, deeply interested; she has seen the same expression in criminal psychologists, the way they try to figure out what makes people kill one another over and over. Souji's is rawer, the interest less subtle – mostly because there's really no one she can prattle on about how his smile inches more to the left than the right, lop-sided and imbalanced. A sign that she won't leave alive.

* * *

He returns the following day, carrying grocery bags. The casualty of it makes Naoto want to curl up and cry; her empty stomach, unbound by metal handcuffs, follows her urge anyway.

"Sorry," he says, like he's just arrived at the Dojima household and he's greeting Nanako-chan, "the lines at Junes were crazy today. I brought you some sustenance," he adds helpfully, smiling at her.

"I'm not hungry," Naoto replies, because she knows she won't leave alive, in the end. Her eyes still follow the lines his fingers make when they press into the paper, though, and Souji notices.

"I brought some pre-made lasagna for you. Are you hungry yet? It's been a while."

Naoto looks at the ceiling.

"How much time has it passed, outside?"

"Just three days." She closes her eyes, bites the inside of her cheek. "You still have a week or so," he adds, tipping his head to the side with a smile.

"Why did you murder Mayumi Yamano?" Naoto asks. Souji unpeels the plastic cover of the lasagna; he must have heated it at home, because the smell is warm and appetizing. Her mouth floods at the scent, and Naoto swallows, keeps talking. Anything to focus on. "You did not know her. There is no motive."

Souji shrugs, delicately placing the lasagna by her head. There's a plastic fork resting on top of it and Naoto thinks that she might vomit if he does so much as attempt to feed her. He doesn't, thankfully, giving her a look that reads, _I know you better than you think_. He unlocks the shackle holding down her right wrist and smiles, playing with the key. _If I stretch, I can grab it,_ but she doesn't – Souji is smart, the only kid with brains in that Investigation Team they've set up. He wouldn't let her get away that easy.

"I didn't kill her," Souji says, casual, watching her eat. He's two steps away, just in arm's reach. "I didn't kill Saki-senpai, either."

She chews thoughtfully.

"I killed Yukiko-san, once," he goes on, like he's checking things off a list, "as well as Kanji-kun and Rise-chan. Morooka-sensei's murderer, too."

Naoto stops, looking at him. He doesn't _look_ insane, doesn't look haggard or half-crazy like the first time he'd smiled at her, and Naoto has to close the fist she's not using in order not to scream. It would make it easier to accept if he looked the part, maybe. Yes, that's it. He doesn't look like the serial killer they've been looking for. How can a person betray so many, so easily? Naoto has never been the kind of person to let her emotions show, but this is –

"What do you mean?"

Souji runs an awkward hand through his hair.

"Every time I let someone die, I go back seven days," he says. Then, he shrugs – _no big deal, y'know._ "Yamano-san and Saki-senpai were not my fault, not really, but the rest of you? Well, I don't know if it counts as murder, since always I end up saving you in the end."

"Why are you telling me this?" Naoto asks, back tensing, the small portion of lasagna she has already had threatening to climb out her throat. She doesn't know if she believes him and that's worse than contemplating her end.

Souji shrugs. "I dunno. I just – I won't make it in time. Your secret lab doesn't much agree with me, I'm afraid," he says, and has the gall to chuckle. He notices her expression soon after and cringes, apologetic, "sorry – but, on the plus side, you won't remember anything."

"That doesn't comfort me as much as it should," Naoto replies, feeling queasy.

* * *

He tells her another week has passed when he returns, the next day. The TV shouldn't work this way, she thinks – hadn't they spent afternoons here? How had they been able to keep track of time? Naoto has tried counting the seconds herself, but she always loses track, no matter how many times she tries. Is it Souji's fault? Is it hers? Will she ever find out?

"Senpai," Naoto says carefully, eyeing the chakin sushi he has brought her, packed inside a cute lunchbox, "why the wait? Why don't you simply reset the timeline?"

"It's more fun like this," he says, and she's suddenly struck by horror until he soothes her with a smile and a line: "Don't tell me you don't understand. Like this, I can know what would happen if I had lost." Naoto files the fact that he's fighting a battle away, for later, more lonesome times. "It's a sacrifice you must make, yes, but it's not like you will remember any of it, so …" He trails off, staring at the lunchbox between her hands. "And I get to learn more about your dungeon, about yourself. Everyone wins."

She disagrees. When she looks, he's smiling.

"Eventually," he adds, conceding momentary defeat. "Eventually, you will win, as well."

"Is it curiosity, senpai?" She picks up a roll, watches it in the light. Home-made, squishy, perfect-looking. She sets it down again. "Or is this just a way to relieve frustration?"

"Ah, therein lies the question," he says, chuckling. "To be honest, I think it's just because I enjoy seeing these until the end. No one should have to deal with this alone. Plus," he adds, "it's not like I have anything better to do. Everyone will forget anything I do."

"I see," because she does.

* * *

Fourth day. Fourth day? Souji says so; Naoto has given up.

"Technically," he argues, looking every bit the handsome team leader and part-time babysitter he is supposed to be, "I've killed a lot of people."

"Incorrect," she replies, watching the ceiling, "you've only watched them die."

"Is it not the same thing?"

Naoto does not answer.

* * *

"Well, Naoto-kun," he says, even though he already knows she's not a boy, she's just weak and pitiful and bare, lying on the table, waiting for her yellow-eyed counterpart, "I'll be seeing you in the past." He brings instant noodles today, shrimp-flavored, and he eats them without slurping. Naoto stares at her chopsticks, lying unbroken on top of her plastic cup. "You'll probably die today. Maybe tomorrow morning, if you manage to hold out that long without breaking."

Like he's talking about the weather.

Naoto swallows.

"Thank you for your company," she says, peering into his eyes. She finds them yellow, a flat color with neither shadows nor light, and she has to cover her mouth before she vomits. She hasn't eaten in days (probably? She can't tell the time anymore), but the urge is still there. Will it leave? Naoto doubts it.

"Sorry this didn't work out this time," he says, licking his lips, setting his chopsticks down. "I'll try harder, for your sake."

Naoto doesn't reply, watching him leave. When he gets to the doorway, though, she can't help it, "is this the first time I die?"

Souji looks at her over his shoulder, smirking yellow eyes directed to hers, "would you really like to hear the answer?"

A silence; she battles her morbid curiosity, armed with the little hope she has left that this is just a joke, but inevitably loses. Naoto nods at him, slow and steady.

"You're a detective, Naoto-kun," he says, instead, grinning like the first day, "why don't you figure it out yourself?"

The door closes.

* * *

She's taken in a misty night; her head throbs dully when she wakes up, finding herself lying on an operating table. This, she resumes coolly, is part of the plan.

And then Souji comes in, smiling boyishly, and Naoto feels less surprised than she should, for some reason.


End file.
